


Lost Myself

by A Frukish Artisan (La_Chatillon)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Allusion to Rape, Depression, M/M, Prostitution, Songfic, but not really, mention of violence, mute character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-03 01:17:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12738099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/La_Chatillon/pseuds/A%20Frukish%20Artisan
Summary: Francis is prostitute, muted by a client. Arthur is an info-broker, world weary and isolated. Can they help to heal each other?Songfic to Lost Myself by Longpigs





	Lost Myself

APH: Lost Myself

A meeting, and France was quiet, unusually quiet. Arthur glanced at him in concern as he made notes for the both of them, seeing Francis only doodling. As the meeting began descending into chaos he turned to him, “What’s up with you that you can’t make your own notes, Francis?” he asked him. The Frenchman looked at him with dull eyes going to open his mouth but closing it again. He lifted the side of his hair to show the stitches on the side of his neck.

Arthur winced as he looked at them, rubbing his own neck, “A client?” he asked. The Frenchman sold himself as an escort, down in the darkest layers of the underworld. The one line of work that most live without. He nodded and shifted his shirt down to show him the brand they gave him, ‘I have to dress up for them,’ he wrote on his pad, ‘They didn’t like my protesting.’ The Brit sighed and nodded his understanding, “Do you need anything?”  
Francis blinked and shook his head, no. He turned back to his pad, ‘I’ve always found it easier to dream about someone asking that.’  
Arthur sighed, “Yes, I know, but you know me,” he said, “I may look like I hate you but I can never properly harm you.”  
Francis gave the smallest of smiles and settled his head on the info-broker’s shoulder in a show of thanks. “Careful of the stitches,” said Arthur softly to him. The other rolled his eyes and insisted there was no remiss, at least not one he cared about. 

Germany called the meeting’s end and the two began to pack up, Francis keeping his pad out and hugged to his chest. Arthur looked at him, “Do you want to come around for tea?”  
Francis nodded and the two began to walk alongside each other, the silence between them comfortable.

Eventually they reached Arthur’s house and settled in the living room, sat together on the sofa with their drinks on the table. Francis was lain against Arthur, craving touch. Arthur obliged him, stroking through the other’s hair softly. Francis smiled softly at the touch, but suddenly started crying, turning to cling to the Brit. Arthur pulled him close and shushed him softly, not minding his shirt as he rubbed the other’s back. Francis slowly calmed down and pulled out of Arthur’s hug to get his notepad. He sat back down, leant against the Brit’s chest and began writing his explanation:

‘I lost myself, Arthur… I can’t speak! And now to live by myself? I’m just far too weak. I can’t sleep, I need near constant touch to stop from having panic attacks and even then I breakdown! I just… I can’t do it.’

Arthur sighed as he read what was written. He hugged Francis tight and brushed his fingers through his hair, “You shouldn’t be so afraid of such things,” he said to him softly, “You’re as bold as hell for someone as alone as we are, you’re the one that most of us read about and long to be, Francis. So rest all your persuading fears day after day,” he said, “If you really wanted to you could move in with me, I wouldn’t mind, you know I hardly sleep myself anyway.”

Francis sighed and started writing again, ‘By the things you say it’s easier to turn to blaming,’ he wrote, ‘But I don’t want to end up like you, I know you’re as lost as I am, and though you have your voice you can’t speak.’  
Arthur smiled softly at him, “The things you say are true, but you forget that if we can’t live each on our own, perhaps it’s better for us to live together? I know you can sleep in someone’s arms, and I’m sure that with you beside me I’ll be able to sleep, unlike now.”

Francis looked at him curiously and asked about money. Arthur shook his head, “I’m not your client, and you’re not mine, I don’t expect anything from you.”  
‘I can’t love anymore,’ wrote Francis lightly.  
Arthur kissed his head, “Maybe I can help you fix that? Fix your beautiful wings a feather at a time, coax you from this burnt out shell into what you should be.”  
Francis purred as he turned in the Brit’s arms and hugged him tightly, mouthing his thanks over and over.

Arthur kissed his cheek and held him close, rocking him as they began to heal each other of their loneliness.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that was nice-ish. Maybe one day I'll write something a bit less depressing.
> 
> Minty, out~


End file.
